Blonde Like Him
by xx - - - - - mistarr f u z z
Summary: “You’re running away?” “I just said that, Matt.” Mello had returned to packing. He had almost all of his clothes in his bag, now. “And how is that going to help you beat Near? Or avenge L?” When Mello runs away, Matt goes after him. Rated for language.
1. Chapter 1

"As I'm sure you're aware, Mello left last night."

I shifted. Just barely. Roger didn't even comprehend how deep those words cut.

- - - -

_Mello didn't bother with a greeting when he entered the room. He rarely did. At first, there wasn't anything to indicate that something unusual had happened in Roger's office. It was when he went for the closet, instead of his chocolate drawer, that Matt realized something was wrong._

"_Mello." Matt said quietly, cautiously. He knew better than to dive into interrogation when Mello was angry. The best way to start was by testing his boundaries._

_But the blonde didn't answer. He was pulling clothes out of his closet -- three pairs of pants, four shirts, two sweaters, and a heavy coat, specifically. A few sets of boxers and socks were next._

_Matt swallowed. "Mells. Talk to me." He repeated, his voice a little stronger this time. This was bad. _Really_ bad. The redhead didn't want to think about why Mello was throwing all those clothes on the bed. He didn't want to think about why he was pulling a black book bag out from under his bed, either._

_Still no answer._

_Reluctantly, Matt stood up. Mello was part way through stuffing clothes and chocolate bars into his bag. Even through orange-tinted goggles, the redhead could tell that Wammy's brilliant second-in-line was struggling to keep his composure._

_Matt put a hand on Mello's shoulder. The blonde froze. "Mihael." That one word was enough in itself. They never used each other's names unless it was important. _Very_ important._

_The blonde's shoulders sagged. Just a little, but enough for Matt to notice. He heard Mello take a breath._

"_L's dead. I'm leaving."_

- - - -

"Yeah," I answered dismissively. "I noticed."

Roger pursed his aging, wrinkled lips. He never liked children in general, Mello in particular -- and his sarcasm had rubbed off on me. "Considering his intelligence and drive, tracking him down will be very difficult. If you know anything about where he's gone, or where may be going, it's imperative that you tell me right away -- now, preferably. He could be in potentially life-threatening circumstances. We'd like to bring him back as soon as possible."

- - - -

"_You're… leaving." Matt repeated the words like the spelled death for him. In essence, they did -- in all his life, Mail Jeevas had only had one friend, had only trusted one person… and now that person was leaving. Walking out of his life, just like they all had._

_Mello was silent for a moment, weighing his roommate's words. 'It sounds so much worse when he says it', he thought sullenly._

"_Yeah. Yeah, Matt, I'm leaving."_

_The blonde reached for his bedside table, pulled open its single drawer and reached for the remaining chocolate bars, hastily adding them to the pile on his bed._

"…_Why?"_

"_Because." The reply was lame, but it was said with such force that it didn't really matter. Matt removed his hand from the other's shoulder and turned away. So L was dead. Big deal? He knew Mello looked up to him; hell, he _worshipped_ him -- but that didn't mean he should run away._

- - - -

I wanted to roll my eyes. Really, I did. Roger would never find Mello -- and Roger probably knew it, too. The only man alive with the ability to track Mello down when he didn't _want_ to be tracked down was dead, as of about a month ago. "I don't know where he's going. All he told me was that he's after Kira."

- - - -

_The ebony-clad boy sighed, dropping the clothes he'd been about to shove in his bag in favor of looking toward the redhead next to him. "Matt. I _have_ to, okay? They want me to work with Near! _Near_! You know how much I hate him!" No bite, though. Matt wasn't even looking at him. Again, he sighed. "I have to avenge L, Matt. He was my idol. He got me out of my house, away from my parents. He got me off the streets. I have to make sure he didn't die in vain, and I have to do it _myself_."_

_Matt shuffled a little, raising his hand to run his fingers through his hair. He exhaled shakily -- he was trying to hide how much this was already effecting him. It wasn't working._

"_So you're running away?"_

"_I just said that, Matt." By then, Mello had returned to packing. He had almost all of his clothes in his bag, now._

"_And how is that going to help you beat Near? Or avenge L?" Matt asked quietly. Despite the lacking volume, the statement was piercing -- and laced with worry. What he was really saying was, 'What good will that come of it? You could freeze to death. You could get yourself killed. You could get kidnapped. You could get raped. You could get beat up and bleed to death in an alley. You could starve. Something devastating could happen, and I'd never know about it.' But Matt knew better than to feed '_what if'_s to Mello._

"_I just -- I have to, Matt. There's nothing left for me here, anyway. There's no reason for me to stay here." Mello had migrated to the bottom drawer of his dresser, and was pulling out a small box where he stashed his money -- probably a collective two or three hundred dollars, -- a lighter, and some matches._

_Matt fell silent. Again. He knew what Mello meant -- there was nothing here he hadn't already learned, and there was nothing here that would help him find Kira -- but it still stung. Mello was swinging his bag over his shoulder._

"_Let me come with you."_

"…_What?"_

"_Let me help you."_

- - -

"Did he show any desire to return?" Roger asked in a professional manner. Like he didn't really care that there was a human life at stake -- like he didn't really care that _Mello's_ life was at stake.

"No," I answered shortly, bluntly. I wanted nothing more than to get out of that room. The air was thick in there. It was suffocating me.

- - - -

_Mello sighed. He was standing in front of the door. Slowly, he turned around, resting a hand on either of Matt's shoulders. "Mail. You're staying."_

"_No, I'm coming with you-"_

"_Mail," he repeated. "I'm not going to be responsible for your life. I could care less what happens to me out there, but I'm not going to be the one to _

_watch you die."_

"_I can take care of myself." Matt was mumbling. He wasn't all that confident in himself, and it was obvious. He didn't really know how to take care of himself -- but he was damned determined to be there to take care of Mello._

"_No, Matt, you can't. You don't know how to live on the street, alright? I know you well enough to know that you couldn't handle it. I can. I've done it before."_

"_That doesn't make you invincible," the redhead countered, peering at the blonde from behind the safety his goggles. The world was more friendly in orange. "You're all I have left, alright? I don't want to wake up one morning and see your bloody body on the news."_

_The blonde was quiet for a moment. Stunned silent, so to speak. When he spoke up again, his voice was quieter. "I'll be fine, alright? Quit worrying about me. I survived before-"_

"_And when you were found, you were bone-skinny, half-starved, sicker than_

hell_ and hypothermic!" Matt yelled, firmly grabbing Mello's arm and shaking it for emphasis. "Don't think I've forgotten. I don't want to see you like that, Mells. Hearing about it was bad enough."_

- - - -

"Alright, then. That'll be all," Roger concluded, utilizing his vocabulary so he could dismiss me indirectly -- dismiss the new second-in-line indirectly. "You've been excused from classes for the remainder of the afternoon."

I nodded numbly, imitating L's blank expression best I could as I removed myself from the sticky leather couch. I was gone in barely two, maybe three seconds. Record time.

I went straight for my room, and locked the door behind me.

- - - -

_Mello's eyes widened with the boldness of the statement -- but he recovered quickly. He let go of Matt's shoulders and pulled the redhead's hand off his arm. "I'm leaving. You're staying. Alright?"_

_The blonde turned back to the door and turned the handle. He paused. "See ya, Matty."_

_Matt just stared. His brain was too foggy to form a coherent answer -- at least, not right away. This was it. Mello was leaving. He was gonna say goodbye, walk out the door, and never look back. The end._

"_Bye, Mells."_

_The door opened to an empty hallway. It closed to an empty room. All that was left there was a heartbroken gamer, trying desperately to hold back tears._

- - - -

The first thing I did was pick my dirty old tan backpack up off of the floor and dump its contents out on the bed. Hastily, I started stuffing it with clothes, batteries, and Gameboy games.

I wasn't just going to sit there. They wouldn't let me go for another four years -- and by then, it would be too late. I was going after Mello. End of story.

I tossed in a throw-blanket for good measure, and grabbed a mostly-full water bottle to stuff in a side-pocket. After that, I went for a box under my bed. It had a book in it -- something by some psychoanalyst that Mello was always gushing about. Doctor Frood? Doctor Froyd? As if I knew. It was supposed to be a Christmas present, but considering the circumstances… well, I could give it to him when I caught up.

I stuffed the book in with everything else, and snatched my laptop and charger off a desk. It was a standard gift for Wammy's students once they reached thirteen, and I was sure I'd need it at some point… maybe. That went in behind the book, along with the charger.

I didn't stop to think until I started pulling on my jacket. It had only been two days. Mello couldn't have gotten that far. And even if he _had_, he'd slow down at some point.

And on that thought, I secured the backpack over my shoulders and walked out the door.

- - - -

_Author's Note:_

_**EDITED VERSION: It came to my attention, while trying to write the next chapter, that it'd be easier to write this story if it were written in first person from Matt's point of view. Sorry for the change, comment if you think it should be changed back -- I just thought it may help my writer's block. Thanks Chiyo Mai, Vampy-Note, and Ashastana for my first comments!**_

Alright, here it is. My very first MattxMello, and my first chapter-by-chapter fic. Hopefully all will go well! :D Reviews make for faster updates!


	2. Chapter 2

The first day was the hardest.

I've never been one to follow things all the way through (at least not the important things), and that includes thinking. But even so, I probably should've realized that a city in winter at night wouldn't be quite as warm as a heated room at Wammy's. Even with a blanket, two shirts, and a heavy jacket, I could've sworn my skin was freezing over.

I didn't sleep much that night, either. Could anyone really blame me? When I finally did settle down, I was nestled behind a gas station, between a dumpster and a sort-of wall that I assumed a furnace was hiding behind. I could hear whores and drunks stumbling out of bars together down the street, and I could smell alcohol and pot in the air, and I just _knew_ that something illegal was going on in the alley across from my own. I half-dozed off, half-passed out sometime around four that morning.

The cycle continued for a couple days, but it did get more bearable over time. It wasn't like I was used to it by the time a week had passed, but it _was_ a little easier than it was before. It's like getting your blood drawn, I guess. The first time, it's the worst thing in the world, but by the second or third time, you're more accustomed to it, so it's not as bad.

I think it was the fourth day that I shoplifted for the first time -- and it was _way_ easier than they make it out to be. Maybe it's 'cause I'm smart or something, I dunno, but when you're in school they make it seem like you'll be thrown in solitary for the rest of your life, and that there's no way to avoid getting caught. I went into the same store _three times_. Stuffed by pockets full to bursting with crackers and granola bars. I don't think anyone noticed me, either, and I only stopped 'cause I'd been past the same cashier twice.

- - - -

It was after about two weeks that I ran into Near. I guess I should've seen it coming, but like I said, I don't think ahead all that much. I was probably a two or three hour drive away from Wammy's by then, so it's not all that surprising that I stumbled upon him -- or rather, was found by him.

See, after kids leave Wammy's -- even if they run away, -- usually they try to keep tabs on them. For a seven or eight day span, they survey almost everyone within a twenty-mile radius and watch every store-front tape to see if they can find the kid. By then, they've usually spotted whoever they're looking for, or the kid's taken it upon themselves to return -- otherwise, they call it a lost cause and leave it alone. I figured I was in the black, since I hadn't seen anyone since the one-week deadline, but I was wrong. Near said he was the only one who saw me in those corner-store video feeds, though -- and that he destroyed the tapes shortly afterwards.

But, getting back to what I was talking about, he found me camping out in a run-down old factory (I think it prob'ly went out some time in WWII). I was trying to catch some sleep there, 'cause it'd been awhile since I'd gotten more than two or three hours a night. Usually an abandoned factory wouldn't have been my first choice, but this one was within two or three miles of a police station, right in the heart of a city, so I figured I was safe. What kind of criminal hides out somewhere he can be so easily found?

But when I woke up, it was because I was being shaken. It wasn't like I was having my head crushed against the pavement or anything, but any kind of physical contact in a situation like that can be bad. I reached straight for the knife in my pocket -- but that was when I opened my eyes.

Near was sitting in his odd half-fetal position next to me, looking as apathetic as ever, and just the same as the last time I saw him -- except, of course, his fingers were prodding my shoulder instead of fiddling with his hair. It weren't as if I could tell, but he must've been surprised at my condition; I didn't exactly look myself, after all. My hair was greasy, dirty, and severely snarled. I looked a lot paler, and I knew it too, even just from seeing my reflection in shop windows. My goggles were slick with sweat and caked dirt, and my clothes were muddy. I'd acquired a pretty intimidating smell, too -- but it kept people from bugging me, so it wasn't as bad as it could've been.

"Hello, Matt. It's nice to see you -- although I can't say you're looking well."

"Uh… hey, Near." Small talk with Near is always awkward.

The little albino boy just stared at me for awhile -- it felt like hours to me. I really didn't want him to be there. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Near -- that's Mello's thing -- but I really wanted to stay out of Wammy's.

After a few minutes, he broke the silence and said, "You know, you really should start keeping your head down."

That confused me. "What?"

"I said: 'You really should start keeping your head down'." His voice was a monotone to rival L's, which just added to my confusion. What good would keeping my head down do me?

As if he heard my unvoiced question, he continued, "Your goggles make it easier to find you on surveillance videos. You should keep your head down."

Finally understanding, I nodded numbly. Of course. I should've thought of that. Roger must've been outside -- Near came in instead so I'd be more comfortable… maybe.

"Roger isn't outside."

Damn mind-readers. "How did you get here?"

"I drove."

I was stunned into silence for a moment. Near… driving? Wasn't he, like… _twelve_? _Maybe_ thirteen? "And… when did you get a license, exactly?"

"About four hours and sixteen minutes ago. It's no different from printing a fake ID."

My voice failed me. I still couldn't picture Near behind the wheel of a car. Me, maybe. Mello, definitely. But _Near_? It just didn't seem right. The sheep-boy -- who had resumed twisting his hair around his finger, -- _driving_. Wow.

"A-alright… so, _why _are you here?"

"I thought that would be obvious, Matt. You are second-in-line, after all."

Ouch. That stung.

"But I suppose I'll elaborate. I reviewed the tapes myself, seeing as Roger's incapable of doing it properly, and spotted you rather quickly in different convenience store recordings from shops between here and Wammy's. So I came looking for you."

"I'm not going back," I said firmly. I wasn't going anywhere without Mello -- and if I really had to, it wouldn't be hard to take Near in a fight. He couldn't take me anywhere.

"I expected as much," Near replied nonchalantly, still twirling his hair around his finger. "Mello has recently taken a plane to Los Angeles. I've arranged a flight for you tomorrow evening." This was surprising -- to say the very least. He was helping me find Mello. _Mello_. The guy who'd done nothing but mock him for his entire stay at Wammy's. "There's a room for you at a hotel about a mile from the airport. I'd be willing to give you a ride. It's thirty-four minutes from here, by car."

- - - -

_Author's Note_: Sorry, slow-going chapter. It'll get better within the next two or three, I promise. I wanted to get Near in here somehow, because Matt doesn't have the resources to find Mello just yet. I figure I'll get him into some kind of underground job. Suggestions are helpful. :]

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	3. Chapter 3

I'll admit, at first, I was skeptical of Near. It wasn't beneath him to trick me into going back to Wammy's, and logically, it made sense. He knew he couldn't top me physically, so he resorted to mental strength. But I went with him anyway. Turns out he was telling the truth -- both about the hotel and having driven there. He's actually not a bad driver, either, despite the fact that he can barely see over a steering wheel. Who'd have thought, eh?

The ride there was pretty quiet. Only once he spoke up and asked me what I'd reached in my pocket for, when he'd arrived. When I told him it was a knife, he informed me of several ways to sneak it past security at the airport, and promptly fell silent again. I guess I shouldn't have expect him to ask me anything else -- he could figure out all the answers with a glance and half-hearted speculation. He didn't ask me how I was, because it was written all over my face that I was hungry and tired. A casual_ "What's up?"_ would've been out of place, firstly because Near just isn't casual, and secondly because he knew exactly what was up -- I had just slept in a crumbling building and I'd been on the streets for the past two weeks. And he didn't bother asking me why I'd left, the answer was perfectly clear -- I wanted to find Mello.

I _needed_ Mello.

When we stopped, it was outside a surprisingly extravagant looking hotel. _Where the hell does a _kid_ get all this money?_

Oh. Yeah. Near was L, now.

Said albino turned toward me, and as I turned to face him, I couldn't help but notice how out of place he looked in the driver's seat of the SUV he was driving. The car was huge. The seats were black. And here was the epitome of all things white and small, driving it around Winchester like a three-year-old on a tricycle. I had to stifle a laugh.

"The staff has been informed that you're here specifically for the purpose of conversing with L via webcam about witness information, so you shouldn't have any trouble. If anyone asks about the case, tell them it's confidential information. The room is under Roger's name -- no, he doesn't and won't know I rented a room under his name, -- but they're expecting a young Mr. Matt Jeaves to claim it. I thought something close to your actual name would make it seem more natural," Near was reaching into the console as he finished, and finally, pulled out a cell phone and corresponding charger. He handed it to me. "I'll be keeping in touch. And I'd like you to call me once a week -- my number's in the contacts list. If you don't, I'll assume the worst and come looking for you."

I blinked. It was really all I could do. How was I supposed to reply to any of this? Was I supposed to thank him? That seemed like the right thing to do, but it felt a little weird to me. Near was silent for awhile. I wasn't sure whether I should leave or not -- but Near spoke up again before I made a decision.

"I don't hate Mello."

"Uh… what?" _Good job, Matt. Very eloquent._

"I don't hate Mello. No doubt you'll have difficulty comprehending it, but I do care about him." His voice was still monotonous. It almost made him sound creepy. "I've always thought of him as… a brother, for lack of a better term."

I just stared at him. It wasn't the whole 'caring about Mello' thing I couldn't wrap my head around -- more the idea of Near caring in general. He didn't really seem to care about anything, except his status at Wammy's, and possibly L.

"He'll never admit it, but… he needs you. So. Break-a-leg."

I took this as my cue to leave and opened the passenger door, cold air drifting past me and occupying the empty corners of the vehicle. "Thanks," I murmured, half-hoping he didn't hear me.

Of course, he did. Little freak.

"Your welcome. There will be a chauffeur here to pick you up at four post-meridiem."

I got out, and Near drove off. I had to laugh, now. From outside the car, I could barely see the top of his head through the windshield.

- - - -

The hotel room was _nice_. When I say nice, I mean _spectacular_. The spoiled genius had gone and rented me a goddamn presidential suite.

Great. Now I felt like I owed him something.

But I enjoyed it while I was there. In fact, I don't think I've been in such a nice place since. The bed was king-sized, and the place was set up more like a penthouse than a hotel room -- stone-top kitchen with a stocked fridge, fully furnished living room with a widescreen television and every gaming platform imaginable, wireless internet, an enormous master bathroom, and plenty of other things I hadn't bothered to discover. Felt like heaven to me.

There was a black suitcase left on the bed. Now, even growing up in an orphanage, I was always taught not to touch stuff that wasn't mine -- of course, that doesn't mean I listened. 'Sides, it was just like Near to leave something without telling me it was mine -- or at least, it was something L would do, which made it a pretty safe bet. Anyway, I opened up the case, and sure enough, it was filled up with striped shirts, odd-looking blue jeans, leather gloves, a spare set of aforementioned gloves, and even a few DS games I'd left behind. Besides that, though, there was a black box -- 'bout the size of that copy of _Jane Eyre_ Roger kept trying to get me to read.

Heh. Me. Reading _Jane Eyre_.

Yeah right.

But back to this box -- it was just a normal little gift box, with a note stuck to the top of it (_Matt_ was scrawled on the front of the folded-up paper). I pulled the note off curiously, noting that it had been taped to the box cover in a manner so neat it was scary, before unfolding the paper and revealing a paragraph of crudely scribbled words. I assumed it was Near's handwriting -- after all, I hadn't read anything of his that wasn't typed, and he probably didn't work much on his penmanship.

I saved contemplating the writer for later, though. It was legible, and that was all that mattered. I skimmed it for anything that'd jump out at me -- I figured it was something stupid. When I spotted the words 'thirty-eight millimeter handgun', I slowed down.

_Matt,_

_I have reason to believe that, based on personality and former family practices, Mello is trying to contact or has contacted a rather violent party in the Los Angeles area with intention of joining them. I've also found videos of him stealing from various weaponry shops. In this box, you'll find a thirty-eight millimeter handgun and five loaded magazines. There's an ID beneath it, which you are to show to any security agent who approaches you or rifles through your belongings anytime within the next five years. I'm sure you'll need this if you plan on finding Mello. I'll keep you updated._

_Near._

I read it over once. Twice. Perhaps a dozen times, before I opened the box. Sure enough, there was a gun -- a _real goddamn gun_ -- inside, accompanied by five magazines and a strange looking ID with some unusual symbol on it and a rank I've never heard of. I assumed it had something to do with global law enforcement, perhaps the United Nations. Whatever it was, I was sure it was something fancy and important.

- - - -

I left the next day for Los Angeles. I'd only been on a plane once, before -- when I was seven. Somehow, it was scarier this time.

- - - -

_Author's Note_: Oh, dear, another slow one. I'm terribly sorry for making you all wait, things have been kind of hectic around my house lately -- I was sick last week, my sister's sick this week, I've got a state Math Meet and a Job Shadow next week, had a huge test today… ugh. Review, please and thank you! May do a time-skip next chapter, two or three years, give me opinions! Thanks for reading!


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